The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (20 page)

   So when his breathing finally steadied, and he succumbed to exhaustion, Cassandra scrambled from the bed and set a kettle to heat on the fire. She washed herself and wrapped a robe about her shoulders, and while her herbs steeped, she prayed to God that he would protect Dominic. She could not bear the thought of a world without him, even if she no longer lived in it.

* * *

The next morning, when Cassandra again woke up alone, she no longer felt dismayed by her husband's absence. For she'd become his lover… the son of an elven lord. A fire lord himself. The thought terrified and excited her all at the same time. And even though she knew he would rebuff her in public as he always did, she could not wait to see him again.

   Gwendolyn's pretty face lit when Cass allowed her to choose a gown—a chocolate velvet with gold trim along the sleeves and hem. Wide hoops and a stomacher layered with golden bows. A woven gold pinner for her hair, heeled shoes with a bow perched on the toes. A dress fit for the court of the king and finer than Lady Cassandra would normally wear to break her fast.

   But she hoped to call forth that glimmer of feeling within her husband's crystal black eyes, if only for just a moment, before he shuttered them again.

   The confidence his lovemaking had instilled in her made her bound down the stairs, cursing the heels of her shoes but admiring the gold bows whenever they peeped from beneath her hem. She brought herself up short near the entrance to the dining room, the loud conversation of the nobles giving her pause.

   Lady Cassandra couldn't care less what they thought of her. She'd told herself that the moment she'd entered the palace. But a small part of her shied away from their disrespect. It felt… exhausting sometimes. To keep her head raised high while they whispered scathing comments about her behind lacquered fans and gloved hands.

   She sailed through the doorway, eyes searching for a tall man with silver-white hair, and for a moment her heart flipped when she spied him across the room. But she quickly realized it wasn't Dominic, but his father. She collapsed into the nearest seat and didn't acknowledge the two nobles who hurriedly excused themselves and vacated their spots next to her.

   Mor'ded had returned to Firehame. She now had no chance of engaging Dominic in public, for he would surely return to his rigid demeanor with his father back. And he would use Lady Agnes as a shield again. Fie, what would she do when she saw them together?

   Could their secret feelings for one another sustain her while she watched the general's mistress fondle him in public?

   Lady Cassandra glanced up from her fork, where she'd made a complete muck of the scrambled eggs that the footman had served her, and felt compelled to meet Mor'ded's intense gaze. The image of mounds of gray ash came unbidden into her mind, and she struggled to control the hatred that twisted her mouth. She tried to copy Dominic, smoothing her lips and brow to an indifferent calm. She nodded at her father-in-law, and he narrowed his black eyes at her in response, hastily rising from the table and quitting the room.

   Several other nobles quickly followed him.

   She looked back down at her plate, forcing another mouthful of fried potato between her lips, trying to swallow past the tight feeling in her throat.

   How could she fall so deeply in love with the son, when she detested the father so very much?

   Lady Cassandra concentrated on her meal, nodded at the liveried footman when he brought a tray of watered wine near her elbow. She drank greedily, hoping to numb her shattered nerves.

   "That's a useful talent you have."

   Cass choked and quickly brought her napkin to cover her mouth, looking up into the piercing eyes of Sir Robert Walpole. "I beg your pardon?"

   He took the seat next to her, flipping back the skirt of his somber blue coat. "The way you manage to clear a room." He waved a heavy hand about the table. Other than a few couples sitting far down the linens from them, the room lay empty.

   Cass felt her face heat. The hope of the future of England sat next to her and she valued his opinion. Yearned for his respect and admiration. She took the napkin away from her mouth and slowly placed it on the table.

   "A neat trick," he continued. "I wish I had the knack of it."

   His face did not betray a hint of sarcasm. Indeed, he managed to look most sincere, his dark heavy brows lowered in earnest, his mouth curved into a gentle smile. He wore an enormous white wig, liberally powdered with the finely crushed stone that mimicked the elven's silvery sparkle. Only one of his bulk could manage to look distinguished in it.

   Cass smiled tentatively back at him, relieved he hadn't been making fun of her. Perhaps he thought she'd cultivated the court's disdain on purpose.

   He leaned closer to her. "It is most fortuitous for me, for at last I have a moment to speak with you alone."

   She nodded, a tremor of uneasiness running through her. Surely he meant to ask about his note, his suggestion that Dominic hated his father. He would want to know what she had discovered, and she had to warn him. But how much could she reveal to him without betraying her husband? How far could she trust the Rebellion?

   Cass suddenly realized that although she would gladly give her life for England, she could not do the same with Dominic's.

   Sir Robert's voice dropped to a murmur. "We haven't much time. Thomas needs your help."

   It was the last thing she'd expected to hear. She studied the portly man, realized that he struggled with some other, greater matter than the conversion to their cause of the elven lord's son.

   "Where is he?" she breathed. "Is Thomas all right?" She struggled to keep the hysteria from her voice. It had never occurred to her that Thomas might need her help, that he would be in danger. He'd been her teacher and she'd held the utmost confidence in him.

   "He's fine. You haven't heard the rumors?"

   "Of what?"

   A footman passed their seats with fruit tarts on a silver tray, and Sir Robert gave a hearty laugh and helped himself. "These will be the death of me, I'm sure." He bit into the sugary crust and waited for the footman to reach the other stragglers at the table. His voice lowered again. "Mor'ded has returned with a young girl destined for tomorrow's trials. She's one of Breden's half-breeds and has potential for great magic, powers that could be useful to our cause. Her mother agreed to allow us to hide her, and the girl agreed to give up the promise of Elfhame to aid our cause, but—what is it?"

   This secret Cassandra had to share. She could not allow the atrocities to continue and she felt sure Dominic would agree. "The children—those who prove powerful enough to be sent to Elfhame…"

   He did not ask questions, just waited for her to continue with his eyes riveted to hers.

   "They… are destroyed. I do not know if the elven lords can even return to their home world. There is much I still—you are not surprised."

   "No. We have long suspected, but… are you sure?"

   "He showed me." She did not need to say who. "I saw the children's ashes."

   This time Sir Robert betrayed a reaction, the blood draining from his face. But he quickly recovered. "What else did you find out from him?"

   Cass shook her head, gold thread winking from her lappets. "You will have to ask him that yourself."

   "So that is the way of it?"

   "I have not wavered from my intentions," she hastened to assure him. "But as far as my husband goes… he will have to make a commitment himself."

   "I believe he will—if only to protect you. In the meantime, keep our secrets as securely as you keep his. You will help Thomas?"

   Cassandra knew what he asked. "He wants to free the girl?"

   Sir Robert nodded. "A traveling company will perform
Romeo and Juliet tonight." He grimaced, well-known fo
r his distaste of the theater. "No one else in the palace will want to miss it. You must devise a way to leave after the first scene and meet Viscount Althorp in the small parlor where we first spoke. Do you remember?"

   The same footman neared them again, this time with a tray of sugared fruit. Sir Robert did not wait for her answer. Instead he rose with a muffled grunt and gave her a small bow. "So you will ask the general to join the king in his box tonight?" he said in a loud voice. "We would be most honored. The king admires the cut of his suit, you see."

   Cass gave him a watery smile, and he turned and left, snatching a sparkling strawberry from the footman's tray as he passed. She was the only one left in the dining room now, and slaves began to slip in to clean up the mess. The liveried servants ignored them as one would a dog beneath their heels, but several times Cass caught the slaves glancing her way with hidden smiles, which she returned with muted delight.

   She'd made some friends in the palace, at least.

* * *

That evening Lady Cassandra sat at her dressing table and frowned at the mirror, thinking that since she'd come to live at the palace, she spent entirely too much time changing her wardrobe.

   "No, Gwendolyn, not that one."

   The girl held up the silk gown that required enormously wide hoops and tsked. "But I'm sure all the other ladies will be wearing the like. The king admires the fashion—"

   "Not tonight. Fetch me the black wool."

   Gwen's face fell and Cass immediately felt contrite for snapping at the girl. But she had to wear something less restrictive, for she felt sure they wouldn't rescue the captive girl without a fight, and the black would help her blend into the shadows.

   And she should admit to herself that she felt on edge with nerves. Thank heavens Dominic had been absent from the palace today, training his men. He surely would have realized something was afoot. And she couldn't tell him what she intended to do. He would only stop her in his personal quest to keep her safe.

   Gwen slowly dragged out the black gown and scowled at the unadorned woolen. "It won't fit yer hoops."

   "I know. Just fetch the black flannel petticoats."

   The girl grudgingly obliged, then with a wicked gleam to her crystal eyes, held forth a stomacher sewn with jet beads. But Cass did not want anything that would catch the light, and when she told Gwen she would wear the plain embroidered one instead, the child looked on the verge of tears.

   The child's obsession with fancy clothing would drive Lady Cassandra mad.

   When Cass stood fully dressed before the looking glass, pulling on a long pair of black silk gloves, she nodded in approval while Gwen hung her head in despair.

   "Ye shall look so drab, my lady."

   "That is the point, Gwendolyn." Cass hesitated. She felt sure Thomas had a plan. But Thomas did not have Gwen. And unlike her husband, she trusted in her servant's loyalty. The court was now abuzz with the gossip of the trials and of the children who had been sequestered for the honor. No mention had been made of a powerful girl who had to be dragged to the palace for them. Would Mor'ded be so arrogant as to keep the girl with the rest of the other children?

   Never underestimate the enemy.

   "Shall I call for May to do yer hair?" asked Gwen, her voice rising hopefully. "She can twine it so lovely no one might notice the plainness of yer gown."

   "Not yet." Cass fetched the map of the palace from the drawer and laid it out flat on the marble table. Gwen glanced from the paper to her mistress with growing curiosity.

   "I want you to find someone again for me."

   Gwen bounced to her side. "The champion is on the west grounds, my lady. I don't need my magic to tell ye that."

   "That's not who I want you to find. Have… have you heard of the children awaiting the trials?"

   Gwen smiled dreamily. "Aye, and lucky they be. But everyone knows where they are. Even the servants. In the old guest rooms of the palace."

   Cass's suspicions solidified. "I think it's possible one of the children may be… housed in a different location."

   "But why?"

   "It's hard to explain. Can you do this for me without asking too many questions?"

   Those wise hazel eyes took in Cass's appearance again, flicked to the map, and the girl nodded. "I trust ye. But I don't see as how I can help. I wouldn't know what to seek, ye see."

   "I'm not sure I understand."

   "Well, when ye asked me to look fer the champion, I could see his light clear as day on the map."

   "His light?"

   "Oh aye." Gwen scratched her head. "The champion's light is near as bright as his father's. He's easy to find."

   "So everyone has a light?"

   "Aye. May's light looks like it's woven. Cook's light slowly spins like a pig on a roast."

   "And mine?"

   "Yours
dances
, my lady. Like it's doing a merry jig."

   Cass smiled at the bemused look on her servant's face. This light that Gwen saw must be a reflection of each person's magic. But how would she be able to recognize someone's light if she'd never seen it in relation to the person before?

   "You said the general's light shines brightly? What does it look like compared to mine?"

   "Oh, his shines much brighter and wiggles like a flame. Yers is soft, my lady, but… ye see, everyone with the fire magic has a bit of black about it. Mor'ded is the only one whose is completely black."

   "I think I see. Not only do you see the strength of their magic, Gwen, but you see what kind of magic they possess as well."

   "Then why don't our lights shimmer with red flame, my lady?"

   Cass thought of the black fire Dominic told her about and suppressed a shudder, unwilling to reveal that knowledge to the young girl. "Perhaps because Mor'ded rules with a black scepter. Now, most of the nobles here are related to the fire lord, but there are many who possess magic from other sovereignties. Do you see those as clearly?"

   "So that's why some have blue or brown or silver lights! Their magic matches the elven lord's scepter. I should have thought about that before. But it's always been something that's just there… and I never thought about looking for their lights on a map, my lady. Until you had me search fer the champion, that is."